


well, i'll be damned!

by bpdnewtgeiszler



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Demon!Aziraphale, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, aziraphale falls au, i'm just gay for this au lads, some descriptions of blood/violence but not too bad!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 12:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bpdnewtgeiszler/pseuds/bpdnewtgeiszler
Summary: aziraphale falls. crowley catches him.





	well, i'll be damned!

_‘You were an angel once.’_

_‘That was a long time ago.’_

_\--_

‘Uh… Hello … Crowley…’

Aziraphale’s voice crackled over the phone, breaking the months of silence between them. They’d had quiet patches before, like the century long argument of which Crowley slept through the majority. But this felt different. Since Armageddon, or averted-Armageddon, they found themselves in each others company more and more often. 

But one day, it went quiet. The automated voicemail greeted him instead of his angel. He’d been desperate enough to try and visit his bookstore multiple times. After hearing nothing, getting no answer and, after breaking in, finding no trace of him Crowley started to question - was it something he’d done? Of course, he wasn’t the perfect companion to have this type of arrangement; perhaps his lover had reconsidered, realised this was ridiculous. As the days crawled on, hearing nothing but painful silence, he tried his best to stop visiting, trying to convince himself all was okay. But he knew, something was wrong. He could feel it.

Then the phone rang.

He was going to cut him off; apologise for the months of not talking, ask where he’d been, ask if he was okay - anything to make up for the lost time away from his angel. But before any of that could pass his lips, he was cut off.

‘I’m sort of, well not really but I'm ...I..’ His voice was shaking, coupled with wheezy breathing and an overbearing attempt of a reassuring tone. 

‘Angel,’ Crowley interrupted. 

Voice quietening, Aziraphale continued. ‘It-It is fine! It’s fine. Just, it’s… also sort of, not fine. I don’t suppose, I mean you don’t have to, but only if you’re up for it, I’m in a… a spot of bother. If you could, possibly… help?’ 

His voice choked on the last word, as if it was physically difficult for the angel to admit he needed help. Crowley, in the meanwhile, had grabbed his coat and bolted for the Bentley the second Aziraphale confessed that something was wrong. For him to ask for help? He must be fucking dying.

The Bentley sped across London, with the wheels splashing through puddles causing rain to soak through the rolled down windows. In the meanwhile, it had chosen the worst time to blare out Queen’s _Somebody to Love,_ only causing the demon to hurdle faster. 

The acrid smell of sulphur first greeted him as he rushed into the bookshop. The fire wasn’t as bad as the last time they’d been in this situation, though the sight of books being singed, embers still glowing, didn’t help.

Then he saw him.

Unnaturally bent away from a scorched circle on the ground lay Aziraphale. His legs twisted in a manner which his form didn’t look capable of, while trails of blood flowed from his body. The most striking spectacle was his wings - the previously ethereal feathers that had shielded Crowley from many rain storms were twisted, plucked and singed. Their purity was drained - while not as black as Crowley’s, the amount of blood and ash that coated them made it clear these were no longer the wings of an angel. His corporal form was similar - mantled in blood and ash, as if his previously virtuous form was rotting away, whilst his clothes were in tatters.

He’d fallen.

Crowley felt his legs buckling from underneath him. Visions from his first impressions of Hell, his torments from the others, the pain - for this to happen to _his_ angel. It was almost too much. He didn’t cry often but, once his mind began to clear, he found his body shaking as it cried, whispering apologies that he couldn’t stop.

Aziraphale tried to extend his hand, wincing as he opened his palm. The phone lay beside him, next to his bruised face. He slowly took his hand, stroking gently with his finger, then noticed his eyes. The previously beautiful, angelic eyes were now a harsh black, blending in with the ash on his face.

‘Ang-’ he began, before his voice gave out. The demon’s body wouldn’t stop shaking as he tried to hold his lover, afraid he was going to break. He’d been nonchalant about the fall before but knowing its potential, knowing what Hell could have done - _had_ done before - he couldn’t.

Looking faintly up at his partner, the darkened eyes of Aziraphale softened, but visibly expressed that staying lucid was difficult. ‘It… it’s been, a few months,’ he choked out, still doing his best to try to be reassuring, despite the physical pain every word caused his form, not to mention the leaking of blood from the corner of his lips.

‘You don’t need to explain,’ Crowley whispered, his voice wavering but trying his best to seem composed. On the brink of dying and still his partner was trying his best to assure him that all was fine after falling into the depths of heaven. _Of course he would_ , he thought, _the idiot._

As if given permission, Aziraphale’s eyes closed, resting his head against Crowley’s lap. His body was a wreck, still breathing heavily, but it was as if all energy had vanished. More than anything, Crowley wanted to scream. To curse Heaven, Hell, God and anyone who would listen. It hardly felt real. But, in front of him, the being he loved more than anything in the world was nearly destroyed, and it was up to him to help.

Scooping his arms up under the fallen angel’s body, Crowley carried him in a bridal lift. The fire stopped - another frivalous demonic miracle that Hell would hate - but fuck them. All that mattered now was taking care of his lover. 

The bedroom wasn’t too far; though, when holding Aziraphale’s damaged form, every door that needed to be kicked open was more and more painful. After what felt like an eternity, he finally reached the small single bed. It was a tiny old thing, with springs protruding and lumps in the mattress, but when confronted with it the angel got defensive. He could miracle any bed in the universe and he was still adamant that ‘It’s quaint, Crowley,’ he’d admit. ‘And I don’t sleep often so it’s worth it for the charm it brings to the room.’

Now, it was a nightmare as it dug into Aziraphale’s injuries. As delicately as he could, Crowley tried to move his wings to fit, doing his best to ignore the whimpers from his unconscious lover. He’d managed to find medical supplies in a cupboard away from the shop floor - some rubbing alcohol, cotton pads, bandages. But to see him like this, being the only one who could treat him - it was the cruelest torture Heaven could devise for Crowley.

 _Worse than your actual torture_ , a voice in his head crept up. Hell wasn’t as predictable as using pitchforks but, once an angel falls, they wouldn’t exactly accept them with open arms. He’d gotten off lightly, Crowley was told, but some of the punishments he’d had to suffer - the torments. It would have been worse for Aziraphale.

 _And it was your fault._

His body was slowly being cleaned, with ash slowly being wiped off and the bloody cuts becoming less gruesome. But the bruises, the burns - marks that would scar. A lasting reminder to Crowley what happens with temptation, what he’d accomplished.

His hands shaking, he rested his forehead head against the barely lucid Aziraphale. His tears were dripping down the other’s face but he was too tired to care. All he could do was repeat broken apologies, wracked with guilt and regret.

Then he was interrupted. The faintest brush of Aziraphale’s lips reached Crowley’s in a weak kiss. Looking up, he could see from his newly blackened eyes that the fallen angel was crying too. Crowley froze - they’d never kissed before. The times he’d wanted to, had to restrain himself, the unspoken declarations of love - he was scared, not knowing how to process. Time seemed to stop until,

‘It’s alright.’

Aziraphale’s voice was only a whisper but something broke inside Crowley. He climbed up onto the bed where he’d been previously kneeling, curling up next to his partner. While his bedside manner wasn’t the best, he was cleaner now, with the majority of the bleeding stopped. He rested his head against his lover’s, desperate to find any words that could convey - his guilt, his apologies, how much he loved him, how he had no idea what to do now.

They lay together for many hours, with Crowley gently stroking his hair, doing his best to ignore the remnants of blood staining the previously white strands. Aziraphale had been asleep, drifting out of consciousness. But, when he was able to come back, Crowley had finally settled on what to say.

‘We’ll be okay.’ 

Though he couldn’t feel his powers, Aziraphale could still tell the love behind Crowley’s reassurance. He offered a small smile, before curling back up into his demon’s shoulder and falling back unconscious.

\--

_‘_ _Well, I'll be damned.’_

_‘It's not that bad when you get used to it.’_

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout 2 my wonderful bf who got me into the show & helped me write this.  
> i'm kinda new to writing so it won't be great but i'd really appreciate any comments!


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